Prince Eugene and His Times Part 101

"He looks like a man of eighty," said Carlotta.

"He is much changed, then?"

"You would not know him, my lord."

"Perhaps not, but he will recover his youth with his health. What does he do all day, Carlotta? What does he say?"

"My lord, he says nothing, except an occasional word to his valet.

As for what he does, he is forever shut up in his laboratory."

"Laboratory? What sort of a laboratory?"

"A room which, immediately after his return, he had fitted up like a great kitchen. When the alterations had been made, he went to Turin, and came home with the entire contents of an apothecary shop, with which the shelves of his laboratory are filled. I helped him to place his jars and phials, but much against my will, for he calls me ugly names."

Barbesieur laughed. "Do tell me what he calls you?"

"My lord, you may laugh, but you would not like to answer to the name of 'Basilisk.'"

"To be sure, 'Floweret' would be much more appropriate to your style of beauty, Carlotta; but let that pa.s.s, and go on with your narrative. What is Strozzi about, in this laboratory?"

"How do I know, my lord? He cooks and evaporates his messes; then runs to his table and reads in some mouldy old parchments; then hurries back to the chimney and stirs his pipkins--then back to the table--and so on, all day long."

"But, my angelic Carlotta, if n.o.body is allowed to enter the laboratory, how came you to be so admirably posted as to Strozzi's movements?"

Carlotta looked perplexed. "My lord, there is a little hole in the door that leads out to the corridor, and sometimes I have thought it but right to watch our dear lord, that he might do himself no harm."

"Which means that you bored a hole in the door by way of observatory. Nay--do not deny it; I respect your thirst for knowledge. Does he never leave his laboratory?"

"Oh, yes, my lord. He writes a great deal in his cabinet. All his orders are transmitted in that way. Last week the steward made a mistake in his accounts--"

"To his own prejudice?"

"My lord," said Carlotta, with a hoa.r.s.e laugh, "no, to that of the marquis. When he discovered it, he wrote underneath, 'Two thousand florins unaccounted for. If this occurs a second time, you are discharged.'"

"Good, good!" cried Barbesieur. "Then he is returning to his senses.

He receives no company?" added he.

"How should he? He knows n.o.body, and has forgotten every thing connected with his past life."

"But you told me that he still remembered the marchioness?"

"As for her, my lord, he loves her as madly as ever. He stands before her portrait, weeping by the hour, and the table is always set for two persons. Every morning he goes into the garden and makes a bouquet, which, he lays upon her plate before he takes his seat."

"Poor Strozzi! Sane or mad, he will always be a dreamer!" said Barbesieur. "Where is he now?"

"In the garden, my lord; for it is almost the hour for dinner, and he is in the conservatory gathering flowers for the empty plate."

"Show me the way. I am curious to know whether he has forgotten his brother-in-law and benefactor."

CHAPTER VI.

INSANITY AND REVENGE.

Barbesieur followed Carlotta to the garden. They were walking silently down the great avenue that led to the conservatory, when, at some distance, they beheld advancing toward them the figure of a man. His step was feeble and slow; his black garments hung loosely about his shrunken limbs; his face was bloodless, like that of a corpse, his cheeks hollow, his large eyes so sunken that their light seemed to come from the depths of a cavern. His spa.r.s.e hair, lightly blown about by the wind, was white as snow; his long, thin beard was of the same hue.

"Who is that strange-looking old man?" asked Barbesieur.

"That, my lord, is the Marquis Strozzi!"

"Impossible!" cried Barbesieur, with a start.

"I told you. my lord, that he looked like a decrepit old man," said Carlotta.

"And truly he is not a very seductive-looking personage," answered Barbesieur. "But we must try if, in this extinguished crater, there be not a spark by which its fire may be rekindled. Leave me, Carlotta. I must have no third person here to divert Strozzi's attention from myself."

"Shall I not announce you, my lord?" asked Carlotta, who was dying of curiosity to see the meeting.

"Not at all, my angel. Go back to the castle--not by that winding path, if you please, but by this wide avenue. And--be alert in your movements, for I shall watch you until yonder door closes upon your youthful charms, and hides them from my sight."

Carlotta looked venomous, but dared not tarry, and Barbesieur followed her with his eyes until he heard the clang of the ponderous castle-door behind her. He then confronted the living spectre that, by this time, was within a few feet of him.

"G.o.d's greeting to you, brother-in-law," cried he, in a loud, emphatic voice, while he grasped Strozzi's poor, wan hands, and held them within his own.

The marquis raised his dark, blank eyes, then let them fall again upon the bouquet which Barbesieur had so unceremoniously crushed.

"Sir," said he, gently, "do release my hand, for see--you are bruising my flowers."

"Sure enough, he does not recognize me," said Barbesieur, relaxing his hold; while Strozzi, unmindful of his presence, caressed his flowers, and smoothed their crumpled leaves.

"She loves flowers," murmured the poor maniac.

Barbesieur took up the words. "Yes," said he, "yes; my sister Laura loves flowers. Pity she is not here to see them."

The marquis shivered. "Who speaks of my Laura?" said he.

"I,--I, her brother," bawled Barbesieur, looking straight into Strozzi's eyes. "I spoke of her, and, by G-d, I have a right to call her, for I am her brother Barbesieur!"

Strozzi extended his hand, and an imbecile smile flitted over his ghastly face. "Ah! then, you love her?" asked he, mournfully.

"Of course I love her," was the lying response. "You remember--do you not--that you were indebted to me for your marriage with Laura Bonaletta?"

"Bonaletta!" screamed Strozzi. "There is no Laura Bonaletta; her name is Laura Strozzi, the Marchioness Strozzi, my wife! Remember that, sir--remember it."

"To be sure, to be sure," murmured Barbesieur; "he has forgotten everybody but that tiresome Laura. Let us see if we cannot stir up his memory to another tune."